The Masters this weekend should be your top concern. No, not because of golf, but because of something called "PimentoGate" which is presently gripping Augusta. Wright Thompson over at ESPN.com has uncovered something strange about the legendary Augusta pimento cheese sandwich (basically the official food of the Masters). It's suddenly different. And moreover, it's bad.

There's definitely more spice, and some think there's more mayo. The consistency has changed, sometimes leaving soggy bread gummed up around a big blob of the spread. From the outside, it seems like a combination of legal liability issues and stubborn pride has left the Masters concessions staff trying — and failing, in a rare moment of fallibility — to re-create the same recipe that generations of golf fans have enjoyed.

So Thompson set out to solve the riddle of what happened to the beloved pimento spread. The story began 30 years ago, he discovered, when Ted Godfrey, owner of an Augusta fried-chicken joint called Wife Saver, was asked to handle the crafting of the Masters' chicken sandwiches. He handled this task to their satisfaction [or something better], it seemed, because 10 years ago the tournament asked Wife Saver to make the pimento cheese sandwich as well. This, as it happened, was easier said than done:

For as long as people can remember, a man in Aiken, S.C., made and mixed the cheese himself.... The old man, obviously mad about losing the business, refused to give the tournament the recipe. Godfrey began the monthslong search to re-create the spread.

After much trial and error, many 35-pound cases of cheese, interviews with the old man's suppliers, and examination of his invoices (which only showed cheese, mayonnaise, and pimentos), Godfrey, on the verge of giving up, finally nailed it. The tasters were happy, and it seemed for a time that all was right in the world, until the Masters let Wife Savers go "three or four years ago." They're still serving a pimento sandwich, but not the pimento sandwich.

Pimento cheese is more than a dip. It's a dip with backbone, better suited to the barstool than to a tea party. Sure, it works on crisp pieces of cold celery, toasted bread, Triscuits, and itty-bitty finger sandwiches. But you can spread it on a burger, make grilled cheese, or drip it into an omelet. You can eat it right out of the refrigerator. No one doesn't like it.

We'll never know the secret, because Godfrey's not talking, but you can use our recipe from Linton Hopkins while you watch this weekend. Even so, we wonder if there's a chance of getting this impostor sandwich ejected. If it can happen over pants, it can happen over cheese.